Thursday, March 15, 2007

Last night I dreamed that a small plane fell from the sky and crashed, nose down, into the bed of daisies my father had planted on the north side of the house where my family lived. A calm and unhurt letter carrier from the U.S. Post Office, holding his mail bag, stepped out of the plane and handed us our mail as we stood at the sliding glass door which opened onto our covered porch. We then helped him drag the undamaged airplane onto our porch and invited him into our house. I went outside on the porch to look at the plane. I realized that it was a handmade plane, built from plywood and painted a flat grey. I thought to myself, "Hey, I could build a plane like that."

Considering that I have felt discouraged recently about being out of work, the dream was oddly comforting.

Looking back at my art work has been unsettling lately, especially because I can see in these paintings a shift which led to my conclusion in 1994 that all my paintings were about "looking back," and that I didn't want to do that anymore, after which point I did less and less painting. I wasn't having positive new experiences, just feeling the weight of old experiences and increasingly distressing new experiences. The elation and creative energy that had begun building in 1980 with my return to college, and to drawing and writing, peaked in 1990 with the onset of the Gulf War in August of that year, along with some upsetting circumstances in my personal life and the lives of those I loved, and I began to experience symptoms of delayed post-traumatic stress disorder. I had thought that painting would help me and others transcend our difficulties, but I began to feel overwhelmed by the losses that life brings.

About today's painting:

I still love the ocean. It's been too long since I've been to the ocean. After seeing the film footage of the Christmas tsunami of 2004 and Katrina in 2005, though, I will never look at the ocean in the same way I once did. In this painting, I was recalling a sense of fearlessness that I no longer have. Still, I remember what Georgia O'Keeffe said:

"“I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life -- and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.”

3 comments:

When I think of the ocean I think of Cannon Beach, art and walking between the huge rocks that shelter the coast.

In other words, I've managed to totally forget the winter I spent in Aberdeen and the constant, depressing downpour that greeted me there.

I must admit, though, that I don't spend too much time looking back. I'm just too busy trying to focus on the here and now, now that I'm freed from worrying about my future. At my age, i don't have one.

Thanks for looking closely at this painting, Loren. I am not sure what it is about anymore, except that I know I was trying to reconcile contradictory memories of having to run for my life from people I loved. In the case of a tsunami, much as I love the ocean, I would have to run from it.

I've come a long way since I painted these images. I wasn't thinking about tsunamis at that time. I thinking about how much I loved the ocean, how much I loved swimming in the ocean when there were huge waves. The ocean is the place where I felt deep happiness, despite being in the midst of the most troubled periods in my life.

I appreciate your thoughts about being freed from worrying about the future and the past when living fully in the present.

Oboe in late April 2018

How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be? -- Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)

Welcome to "TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)".

The photograph currently at the top of my blog was taken on May 8, 2016, at West Beach in Deception Pass State Park in Island County of Washington State. For years after leaving Northern California in 1973, I had a recurring dream that there was an ocean beach not too far south of Bellingham. My joy at discovering that beach in my dreams was offset by my grief that no such beach existed when I woke up. On May 8, 2016, I visited West Beach for the first time with a friend who also grew up in Northern California. West Beach is the beach I dreamed about for so many years. May 8, 2016, was the 29th anniversary of the beginning of my healing in connection with bulimia, anorexia, alcoholism, and the beginning of actively using the creative gifts I had been born with. On May 8, 1987, I spent the entire day driving south on Highway 1, frequently gazing at the Pacific Ocean from Mendocino County to Santa Cruz County when the ocean was visible from the road.

"OLD GIRL OF THE NORTH COUNTRY" (the earliest name for my blog) came to life in early December of 2006 so that I could post a 42-year retrospective of my paintings and drawings and through that action, create a new relationship with the day the man I loved returned from Vietnam in December 1971. For a while (sometime after spring of 2008, which is when he died) my blog was "TALKING 37TH DREAM WITH RAINBOW (RUMORS OF PEACE)". For a number of years, it's been "TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)." As of April 12, 2017 my blog is now titled "37TH DREAM / TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE/LOOKING UP)".

To begin viewing the retrospective with narrative, scroll down to December 8, 2006, on this page:

How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be? -- Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. -- Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968)

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. -- Martin Buber (1878-1965)

It is only a little planet, but how beautiful it is.

-- Robinson Jeffers

The true end of a war is the rebirth of life;the right to die peacefully in your own bed.The true end of war is the end of fear;the true end of war is the return of laughter.

-- Alfred Molano

Enjoy every sandwich -- Warren Zevon (1947-2003)

Not in God's wilds will you ever hear the sad moan, "All is vanity." No, we are paid a thousand times for all our toil, and after a single day spent outdoors in their atmosphere of strength and beauty, one could still say, should death come — even without any hope of another life — "Thank you for this most glorious gift!" and pass on.

-- John Muir (1838-1914)

Philip Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do? Philip Henslowe: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well. Hugh Fennyman: How? Philip Henslowe: I don't know. It's a mystery.